


Flesh and Metal

by sanguisuga



Series: sang's AU & crack collection [4]
Category: Gary Numan - Fandom
Genre: Dystopian Future, Inspired by Music, Man and Machines, Multi, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 17:01:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Gary Numan's 'Replicas' album, a bleak vision of men and machines co-existing in a long-distant future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flesh and Metal

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that I started to write a long, long time ago... (In a galaxy far, far away... *ahem*) Suffice to say, I didn't get very far and my life took a turn that lead me to abandon my writing for a very long time. I'm not entirely sure why I wanted to post this, beyond that I find the concept interesting and that perhaps I may be able to pick up the thread on it once more. Lucifer knows, it's not like I've stopped listening to Numan or stopped being inspired by him...
> 
> I haven't altered it from my original scribbles, except for some formatting corrections. I may go back and re-write some bits later, as I can already see things that could possibly be expanded on. But for now, this piece will most likely be standing as a permanent WIP, unless I can reach inside and find that spark again. (And if I get the time away from writing on my main saga.)

It was cold outside. Webb could tell by the way his breath frosted the window. He felt around the windowpanes, and let the icy breeze forcing its way through the cracks play upon his open palms. He leaned forward to look outside. Webb could see very little beyond the circle of light cast by the streetlamp. A man in a long gray overcoat paused in the light and set a match to his cigarette. He glanced up, and, squinting through the smoke seemed to see the boy at the window. He winked and moved on. Webb withdrew.

Moments later, he was back at the window, staring past the light into the blackness of the city. Not that he could actually see any of the blasted cityscape. He didn’t need to. It was always in his mind’s eye. He knew that The Arena was only around the corner, advertising itself in lurid, neon red letters. Webb had even been persuaded to go, once. Just yesterday. It seemed like a lifetime, now.

An acquaintance, really, just a guy he had met on the street, talked him into going. What had he said? Oh, yes.

“It’s better to view it from above than to be down in the pit. You should see it, just to see it.” The little man had sighed heavily, looked away from Webb’s bright blue eyes. “We’re all going to be sent to The Arena sooner or later, boy. Best to see it now, and know what to expect later.”

Webb had been staggered by the man’s attitude of casual resignation. He had known that things weren’t good, nothing had been good for quite a while. He had never expected to encounter such calm acceptance. Of course, how could they fight the machines?

What was left to fight for, anyway?

So Webb had gone, to witness the spectacle and perhaps learn something of mankind’s eminent demise. Upon arriving at The Sphere, the restaurant surrounding The Arena, Webb’s new friend had ordered himself a basket of fries and a chocolate milkshake for Webb.

“To remember the old days”, he said, with a glint in his eye.

Webb suddenly found himself wondering what the man expected of him. He had already had a few experiences with strange people trying to lead him into motel rooms, or down dark alleyways. He had always managed to back away without making too much of a scene, but this time he accepted the offering. The last time he had enjoyed such a decadent delight was when he was four years old. They found a booth with a good view down into The Arena. Of course, all the seats had a view. Nobody ever went to The Sphere for the food.

For a while, Webb found himself occupied with observing his fellow diners. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so many people gathered together in one place. Families. A young woman had turned to watch them settling into their booth. The man she was with noticed and turned to glare at Webb. He couldn’t tell if the man was her father or husband. It didn’t matter. Women weren’t allowed out on their own, and Webb wouldn’t have a chance to even speak to her.

The last time he had seen a woman walking about, he had been staring out his window as usual, watching, always watching. She had been travelling along the sidewalk easily; head held high, hands in the pockets of her coat. A group of rogues had spotted her and wasted no time, running from across the street to intercept her path. Pulling a gun from her pocket, she calmly pulled the trigger. The rogues had scattered as one of their number disappeared in a spray of blood and bone. She tiptoed daintily around the larger pieces of gore and continued on her way. Webb had wondered idly how much ammo was stashed in her shoulder bag. He had watched for her the rest of the afternoon, but she had not returned.

Webb was interrupted from his reverie as the prisoners were announced by a piercing whistle, before being herded out into The Arena. Many scrambled around aimlessly, searching fruitlessly for a way out. A very few clustered together in the center of the pit and waited patiently for the end they knew was coming. Webb watched his fellow humans scurrying about like rats. One woman in particular had caught his eye. In a blind panic, she threw herself at the wall continuously. Her actions were hypnotic. Webb soon found himself transfixed by her movements, unable to turn his eyes away from the show. He even found it difficult to summon up any sympathy. These people had broken the law, after all. In his mind, and in the minds of all the law-abiding citizens watching, the shrieking creatures below were to receive no more than they deserved.

Webb shuddered to think on it now.

He recalled how swiftly the machines had whirred into motion, almost like awakening from a brief nap. Those few prisoners who still had their wits about them walked willfully into the path of the oncoming machinery and were met with a messy but swift death, crushed underneath the heavy treads. Those who ran were quickly caught, and tortured. A specialized machine rolled into the arena. Scooping up the survivors, and those who were only maimed, it raped them all, one by one. Slowly, methodically, the law-breakers were meted out their punishment.

A young man was screaming on the edge of the pit. He appeared to be about Webb’s age, but months of internment had left their mark, carving lines into his face and sapping his strength. One leg had been crushed to nothing. He flailed backward until his butt hit the wall, still screaming. His screams only brought the rape machine closer.

Webb quickly looked away, and his eye caught the actions of his newfound friend, gleefully smothering his greasy fries with ketchup. Webb turned and retched into the bucket by his seat. He watched numbly as the service robots quickly whisked the bucket away and replaced it with another. Webb looked around at his fellow diners with disgust. They all watched disinterestedly, mechanically going through the motions of putting food to their mouths. They watched just because they could, just because they weren’t the ones being violated.

‘They’re all half machine already!’, he thought wildly. He grabbed at a girl near him and shook her ferociously.

“Are you real?”, he shouted in her face.

The blank, lifeless stare in her eyes told him all. He dropped her back in her seat. She turned back to the spectacle and took a leisurely gulp from her soda. Only his new acquaintance had paid any attention to Webb’s ravings.

“Sit down, lad. The show isn’t over yet.”

Webb flopped down in his seat, staring aghast at his companion.

“How can you say that?”

“Because I can.” The little man’s voice was resolute. “There’s nothing for it now but to forget.”

Webb fairly exploded. “How can I forget what I never knew? People tell me that the sky was blue, and that there were leaves on the trees, green, gold, and red. Those colors don’t even exist in the city anymore. Everything’s gray. The sky, the sun, the people.”

The little man stared at him. Webb stared back unabashedly. “The sky, the sky was the color of your eyes, boy. And your hair, the sun.” He smiled crookedly. “You get a lot of offers, don’t you?”

Webb responded with an uneven grin of his own. “Well…”

“There’s a brightness that burns in you. My guess is that a lot of people want to be scorched by your flame.” He reached under the table for Webb’s knee. “Besides, boy, you don’t want to be labeled a Crazy, do you?” He nodded to the imposing figure standing guard at the door. “With that fine construction over there, you wouldn’t even have a chance to join your fellows in the underground.” He squeezed Webb’s knee briefly. “Come home with me. I’ll be gentle.”

Webb had to smile again. He shook his head lightly and brushed the man’s hand away. “I can’t. I just can’t. Thanks for trying, though.”

He stood and turned toward his companion once more.

“They’ll be watching you too. You know that.”

The little man looked down at his hands. “I know.” He looked up again. “But it was worth it.”

Webb leaned down and kissed him firmly on the forehead. The man’s hand flew up to the spot like he had been burned. “Take care.”

Webb turned and pushed through the door. The machman standing guard turned to watch him walking away with an expression very like curiosity on its all-too-human face.

‘It’s pretty much over now’, Webb had thought. ‘They’ve got my face in their memory banks. It won’t be long before I’m screaming too.’

The fog had lifted. It was as if, up until this point, he had been blind to everything going on around him, completely oblivious. But sitting in that booth at The Sphere, seeing the suffering firsthand had cleared his vision. Now he knew that he had to do something. He wasn’t sure what, but he had to try.

So he returned home.

And ordered a friend.

There had been a deep tolling chime on the other side of the phone, followed by an achingly sensual woman’s voice. “Thank you for calling The Service Center, where you can order a friend for anything, anytime.” Webb felt another chime toll in the center of his chest, causing him to bare his teeth at the phone. The line clicked.

“Yes?”

“I’d like to order.”

“Of course. Which model were you interested in?”

Webb hesitated.

“We’re having a special on all game friends.”, the voice added helpfully.

“I don’t really know any model numbers.”

“First time?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Well then. Just to be sure you know that this is a completely free service, provided for your entertainment and companionship. We don’t want you to be lonely. You are under no obligations if you accept this service.”

“I know all that. Just send me one that will do anything I ask.”

“I see. Male or female?”

“Male.”

“Hmm. We don’t like to encourage such behavior, wouldn’t you rather have a female?”

“No. I wouldn’t.”

“Very well sir. We are experiencing a bit of a backlog on those models. One will deliver itself tomorrow evening.”

“How long will I have it?”

“Maximum twelve hours.”

“And its memory will be wiped after the encounter, right?”

“It will show you the right procedure itself. Don’t worry sir, everything is kept completely confidential.”

“Um, well, thank you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He hung up, feeling slightly shaken. Of course they hadn’t asked his address, they had automatically traced the phone lines.

Now he was waiting for it to arrive, wondering. Wondering why he had called, wondering what he wanted to do with it. Webb had never had much use for human friends, what did he want an electric one for?

There was a knock on the door. Webb hesitated, then turned away from the window. The bare bulb in the hallway flickered uneasily with each of his footfalls. He opened the door cautiously. A tall man dressed in gray had his back to the door. When he heard it creak open, he turned around, taking one last drag on his cigarette and flicking the butt into the darkness.

“Come in.” Webb tried not to let his nervousness show, but his voice sounded thin and wavery to his ears.

The man nodded curtly to Webb and entered. He shed his overcoat and with a cursory glance around the room, tossed it on the bed. Webb motioned him to one of the two chairs that wasn’t broken. The stranger sat stiffly erect, and yet at ease, with his hands resting lightly on his knees. Webb studied his face momentarily, and found him pleasant enough to look upon, but in a forgettable sort of way. The man’s hair was gray, and flowed to his shoulders. On impulse, Webb strode across the room, and felt the texture of it before running his fingers through his own short bottle-blonde crop. The feel of it was disturbingly exact. His eyes were gray also, and Webb could see himself reflected in the horizontal pupil, outlined tall and pale in a dingy motel room.

Webb backed away until the backs of his knees hit the bed, and he settled down uneasily. His heart pounded in his ears, and he forced himself to take a couple deep breaths. His brain whirled dizzily, and he felt on the verge of passing out. Then he looked at the creature again, and the feeling dissipated. There was something oddly comforting about the unnaturalness of it, just sitting there, calmly looking at him, waiting for instructions.

“Stand up.” The friend did so, rising to its feet in one smooth, easy motion. Webb took another deep breath.

“Take off your clothes.” This it also did, stripping to its skin, draping its’ shed clothing in a neat pile on the back of the chair.

Webb swallowed involuntarily at the sight before him. He remembered the pictures of Greek statues in his old schoolbooks, and realized that they could not compare to this specimen. Michelangelo would have broken down in tears had he created such a marvel. And yet, such perfection could not have been accomplished by Nature alone. Man had interfered.

Webb’s mind worked furiously, running through the memories of the short span of time he had spent at the training camp. At the time, all the boys had grumbled endlessly about having to be there at all. They had the machines to fight for them, why did they need to steal our time? He recalled the seemingly interminable exercises, and slowly began to name them for the creature to complete. Once Webb had his rhythm down, he began to fire instructions at the friend whiplash fast, noting everything about how the stranger responded and moved to comply. Webb could almost hear a subtle creaking, like that of muscles protesting unusual strain. A fine sheen of sweat covered its body. Webb could do nothing but marvel at the complexity of the camouflage.

When he felt that the creature had run through every movement, and had noted each easy, fluid motion in his head, Webb had it stand once more in the center of the room. Taking such a deep breath that it made him slightly dizzy, Webb went to examine it.

The skin was human, and therefore susceptible to weapons. But it was only skin, and only used as a measure of disguise. Stripping this creature of its outer shell would probably allow it to move with even more freedom, unencumbered by clumsy human flesh. And underneath, a pure steel framework, against which human strength could not possibly endure. And its brain? Endless mountains of knowledge, all accessed in no more time than it took for the electricity to flick through their fiber-optic nerves. There was no weapon that these creatures didn’t know, and didn’t know how to use.

This Webb knew, still, he forced himself to examine its arms, the powerfully muscled legs. He tested each joint, poked and prodded at the flesh, finding no weaknesses. Not one. He had even tried to tickle it, running his fingers ever so lightly against the soles of its feet. The skin didn’t twitch, and neither did the friend.

He motioned it to sit back down. Then he stood back and looked at it sitting there. It looked back silently, mouth a thin pink line against the healthy glow of its face. A sudden question popped into Webb’s head.

“Can you speak?” The creature looked at him a moment longer, and then shook its head slightly.

A dummy, then. He had heard that there were versions that could speak, models that were usually sent to occupy those few who had been professors, before the machines. Webb had also heard that those who could speak soon learned to speak out against their masters, and so were shut down forever.

Webb’s mind turned over and over insanely. Going over its movements, again and again. No weaknesses, all strengths. No emotions to trip it up with. No compassion, no fury. Just warm flesh and cold metal.

When the revelation came, it was nothing like he had expected. When his hope left, there was no final death rattle, no shriek of rebellion. It simply drifted through his body, dissipated into the chilly air of the motel room. And then, all that was left was despair. Despair, which embraced him, latched on with greedy claws and slavering jaws. Despair, which flooded his body, came bubbling up to tear at his heart and eyes.

Webb felt the tears coming, tried valiantly to stop the flow, even though he knew it was impossible. He didn’t want to show any of his weaknesses to this creature, even though it would have no memory of its encounter when it left. Then the flood broke, and Webb’s body was wracked with harsh sobs. Through blurred vision, Webb felt more than saw his way into the creature’s lap, where he drew his knees up to his chin, and buried his face into the soft warm flesh of its chest.

And he cried. He thought of the children that had been playing in the street only a few hours ago, and he cried. He thought of how the city had been, and how it was now, and he cried. He thought of the little man’s ridiculous attempts to lure him to his home, and he cried. He thought of himself, and the things he had wanted to do, and he cried.

Just when his sobs had quieted, his breath coming in soft, hitching gasps, when he felt that he had released some of the poison, the friend’s arms came up to hold him tightly. At first he only sighed, calmly accepting the unspoken gesture of compassion from warm, living flesh. Then despair evaporated, quickly replaced by a numbing horror.

 _He had given it no command_.

Webb wrenched himself free from the unbendable iron strength in its arms and leapt across the room. As it stood to face him, Webb crouched down in the corner, utterly panic-stricken.

His mind gibbered with fear as the friend advanced. It seemed to sense his apprehension, and halted a few feet away from him. It held out its hands to him, palms upward, in an unspoken gesture of friendship. Its mouth opened and closed questioningly, trying to speak. Webb heard nothing but hoarse squeaks, seemingly directed at him. Finally it stopped and clenched its hands shut. An expression of utter frustration twisted its bland features and it stared helplessly at the boy. Webb’s fear fled under the strength of his astonishment. Could it be that this thing did have emotions, after all? Webb stood up uncertainly, shying away again when it reached for him.

It fell to its knees and lifted the hair from its neck with one hand. The other hand it held out to Webb, who took it gingerly. It tugged him gently to it, and the boy saw a panel clearly outlined on the friend’s skull. Freeing his hand, Webb opened the panel. Staring at the tangle of wires and circuitry, he quickly noted something amiss. Re-connecting the wires deftly, he felt a light tingle in his fingers as the electricity passed through him on its way to someplace more important. He slid the panel back into place and waited.

The friend remained on its knees, moving its jaw back and forth, side to side. Webb went to the bed, watching carefully.               


End file.
